Page 119 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

‘Where has she been all this time?’

‘I thought she was dead.’

‘I thought Kirill moved on with Tamara.’

Every comment lands as a punch to the gut. They collect in my head, piece by piece, piercing my skin like fine needles until I can’t tell which direction they’re coming from anymore. I keep my chin lifted, my shoulders squared the way I’ve practiced, the way Ksenia told me to.

Own the room.

Kirill chose you.

Only, he chose me once, for me. Then he chose me because of Violet. He didn’t choose me a third time. He stole me.

Violet continues to wave, humming this week’s favorite song under her breath, blissfully untouched by the growing unease of my heart. By this cruel undercurrent threading through the ballroom. I anchor myself to the soft tug of her arm, a reminder I have a purpose.

A mother to my daughter who is a Bratva princess. The mother to the future pakhan.

A woman in her fifties wearing a periwinkle chiffon dress stops to say hello to Violet. By the conversation, I can tell this woman works in Kirill’s office, but she’s also married to a Vor. It gives me a chance to scan the room. My gaze snags on more faces that mean nothing to me. All while their eyes tell me they know everything about me. And Kirill.

After what feels like forever, I finally see him.

My husband stands near the far side of the ballroom adjacent to one of the bar carts set up for the event. His dark vibe is pulsating this far out. Something has him unhappy. His posture looks contained, like one contains a hungry lion. He’s speaking to someone I can’t see thanks to Drago’s immense body blocking the person getting Kirill’s wrath.

Then Drago moves, and my heart lands in my throat. It’s Tamara Chernova. I gathered she is part of this brotherhood somehow, so it’s not a huge surprise she’s here. But she’s dressed like…me. And she’s talking to my husband.

A man she declared would be hers. Again. I hold my stomach and want so much to believe Kirill’s explanation of why he was with her a few months ago.

I keep watching. Kirill stands there, appearing to give her a chance to say something. Explain herself. Her mouth curves slightly, and he leans in just enough to put a lump in my dry throat.

We’ve been intimate, but Kirill maintains a distance in his heart that I can feel. He’s not over me leaving. And I have the head of the Greek Mafia on speed dial who could form a rescue party.

I have no plans to go anywhere. Not without my daughter, and I would never separate her from her father. Kirill and I loved each other once. We looked happy in the video, but he’s different now, so am I.

His rise to pakhan was a distant inconvenience for us five years ago. Now it’s here. He has to be a different man.

Not like his father. Who, from what I’d heard, kept mistresses all over this city.

Kirill just stands there with Tamara. I expect he should steer her toward me because I am owed some kind of apology for being ambushed.

If he won’t do it. I will. My feet move before I decide against it, but I forget I’m tethered to Violet.

“Mommy, ow.” She pipes out, and it stops me like a hand pressed flat against my chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” I massage her arm. “Let’s go see Daddy.”

I pick her up and breathe in relief when her legs wrap around my waist, not kicking to get down.

Ksenia appears at my side as if she’s been observing me the entire time. If she saw me start to fall apart, the vultures, who want to pick at my bones so their Tamara can have my husband, must have seen it as well.

With questioning eyes, she asks, “Is everything all right?”

Her husband is the Bratva enforcer. Her life revolves around chaos.

I keep my eyes on my husband with another woman. “I need to speak to Kirill.”

Ksenia’s gaze flicks briefly toward the bar cart, her eyes narrowing when she sees her brother with Tamara.

Exhaling, she turns to me. “It’s nothing.”